


To Be Weighed

by inanhourofdreaming



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanhourofdreaming/pseuds/inanhourofdreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every once in a while, when the lightening strikes in the right way and water fills the air with the pressing weight of a coming storm, Merlin knows that there is something out there, waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Weighed

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on livejournal. Just consolidating:) Written in '09, so AU past then.

Every once in a while, when the lightening strikes in the right way and water fills the air with the pressing weight of a coming storm, Merlin knows that there is something out there, waiting. The something is not bad, exactly, just heavy, molded with something more than just the matter that makes up the quality of an average moment. It is frightening because it is more than what is. It is the clash that occurs when what is meets what will be, when two times meant to run in sequence happen all at once.

The air is filled with the electric tension of such a moment. Merlin wipes his hand across his lips, wet with perspiration. His skin is buzzing with awareness. He knows the feeling of magic, breathes and lives it everyday; this is something different, something new. He cannot help but look around in expectation, body rocking with the excess energy that has been filling it all day. The world feels bigger somehow, more alive. It is waiting, too, he knows.

As he always does when he is feeling particularly unsteady, he seeks out Arthur. Arthur, who is the one point in time and space that does not change for Merlin. Arthur, who is somehow everything. His feet stick to the ground as he walks, trying to hold him still and force him to wait alongside the rest of the living earth for whatever is coming. Merlin has never had any problems disobeying and if he will not listen to Arthur than ignoring the grasping mud that pulls at him requires no thought at all.

He trudges through the halls of Camelot and he knows the walls whisper of it, too. Wait, they say, it is coming. He is coming. He merely walks faster, taking the steps two at a time. The prince will be in his room, hunched over some important piece of parchment and making the decisions that will guide the fate of a great many people, of which Merlin is only one.

Merlin does not knock. The door creaks on its hinge as he enters. Arthur is standing, face turned towards the fire and hair glowing a burnished gold. Merlin knows, then, that this is what the world is waiting for. He is here. He is still Arthur, yes, but he is more than that, too. He has the weight of legend on him and Merlin can see the gold of a crown he does not yet wear.

Arthur turns to look at him and Merlin knows that he can feel it, too. What is this, Arthur asks. The hairs on Merlin’s arms are standing up and he can see himself as Arthur must see him now, glowing gold and filled to the brim with magic. He is seeing Merlin as he truly is, as he will become, just as Merlin sees the image of a king imposed on the sharp lines and deep shadows of Arthur’s figure. There is no hiding now.

Arthur approaches him slowly, stopping only when they are close enough to share the surrounding air with each breath. Merlin, he says. Merlin’s mouth will not move to answer yet he cannot help but lean, his body pulled in by the gravity that is Arthur. Arthur’s hand comes up slowly, his brow creased as he brings his thumb to graze Merlin’s cheekbone. Merlin’s breath leaves his body all at once at the gentle brush and he knows that as big as the world seemed just moments ago that it is now precisely the size of Arthur’s fingertip.

Merlin, he says again, mouth suddenly much closer. Their lips just barely touch, not quite a kiss. When the door bangs open Merlin nearly falls backwards with the shock of the intrusion. Arthur is looking at the guards at the door and Merlin hears your father and accident and then he understands what is happening. Arthur’s face is strained, the wonderful tension of the moment transfigured into something awful as they race to the King’s bedside. Uther is fading. Merlin stands quietly behind Arthur, who is leaning over his father. Arthur, who is about to become king.

With Uther’s last breath Merlin feels the pounding swirl of the day’s restless energy dissolve. The world no longer waits. Arthur stands, face clearing with the understanding of what is to come. Beside him, Merlin watches, ready as the future rushes upon them.


End file.
